MGS: Intelligence
by Catch23North
Summary: Snake takes Otacon rock-climbing, and Otacon begins to understand just what kind of man he's on the run with. Otacon's POV. Takes place after the 'Metal Gear REX' incident, but before 'Sons of Liberty'. Rating is mostly for language.


MGS: Intelligence

(Takes place after the 'Metal Gear REX' incident, but before 'Sons of Liberty')

* * *

"Hey Otacon, wake up."

-Huh?-

""C'mon..." Snake prods me with his toe. I curl up in protest like something white and slimy beneath a log, turning my face in towards the futon.

"Wake up you, you said you wanted to come with me."

"That was then," I mumble.

"GET. UP."

"What is your PROBLEM?" I groan, "Go without me. You've been doing this without me for over two weeks now..."

"Hah! You're coherent!" Snake crows.

"Bite me."

"That's original. Come on, Otacon. You're already awake, and I think you'll like this." Snake argues.

"Make coffee?" I demand pathetically.

"Already done," Snake grins.

"Okay, okay, you win..." I sit up and rub my eyes. Snake waits until I have gone up the stairs ahead of him; he's not taking any chances of a 'relapse'.

* * *

Snake's coffee is drinkable. I dunno why, it just is. ...Though I think he would prefer I drank my own. Snake steals my cup in retribution. Breakfast consists of scrambled eggs and something wheat-like that I poke a few times and leave alone. Snake eats it, but then, Snake will eat some pretty strange things. He views food as jet fuel for humans, and taste comes second. By the time we get to the shed outside, I'm almost awake. Snake sets up the ropes, anchors, crampons and stuff, then adds his climbing harness to the bag. He picks up a second harness, eyeballs me for a moment, then adjusts several of the straps. We hike out to the West rocks just as the sun rises, and it's freezing cold.

Snake seems happy.

I've often wondered what makes a man like Snake get up at six AM every morning to climb the same jagged rock face. I mean, it's not like he hasn't done it BEFORE. When I was a kid I got a bike for my birthday. Last-ditch effort to prevent me from becoming one with my computer chair, I imagine. I'll try anything once, so I practiced hard, and I learned how to ride the thing. There was a bunch of kids who owned bicycles in the neighborhood, and they would ride around and around the same four blocks every afternoon. I rode with them for a couple of days, and they liked me just fine as long as I kept my mouth shut, but after a very short time, I just couldn't take it anymore. I mean, the same four blocks? Over and over like a hamster wheel?

I was jealous. Why was this exercise fun for everyone else, but not for me? What had I done? What was wrong with me? What had I missed?

Eventually, I came to the conclusion that there are certain things that only people of average intelligence or below can really enjoy. Snake, however, is supposed to have an IQ of 180. I've never understood why they scored him that high. I mean, there's the languages thing, and he's not exactly stupid, but I would have placed him at 165, max. Snake's passion for rock climbing did little to change my opinion on this.

* * *

When we reach the foot of today's cliff, Snake sets the bag down, and jerks his head in the direction of the rocks without looking at them.

"Meet your nemesis," he grins.

"Um," I look up the cliff face dubiously. Snake steps into his climbing harness, tightens all the buckles, and lays out two coils of rope on the empty bag. I figure out how my climbing harness is supposed to work, and put it on. Snake adjusts one of the buckles after I finish, but leaves the rest alone. Snake's always doing things like that. If he thinks something needs to be adjusted, and I mean anything, he just reaches over and adjusts it. On him, on me, on a Beretta, it makes no difference. I don't object to this because, A)Snake is always impersonal when he does these things, and B) he probably wouldn't give a shit if I -did- object.

Snake clips one of the coils of rope to the back of his harness, and free-climbs to the top. I get the impression that this is one of the easier places to scale the cliffs. He anchors the rope up over the edge of the cliff somewhere, and slides down it, bouncing off the rock face twice with his feet on his way to the bottom.

"Now you," Snake ties in the end of the rope to a sturdy loop on the webbing of my harness belt. He pulls the figure-eight knot tight, and reinforces the whole mess with a metal carbineer clip.

There is more to two-person rock climbing than meets the eye. Things like 'on belay', and of course, 'falling!' I don't like to lose, but this isn't my element, and I find myself getting stuck a lot. Snake is no help. Sometimes he even wiggles the safety rope. I would have thought that sort of behavior was beneath him, but he seems to be taking perverse pleasure in goading me.

Part the reason that I'm having such a tough time getting to the top is that I'm not very strong. I don't need to be really, and I'd like to see Snake try and hack his way into NORAD some time, but out here on this cliff it's just me, Snake, and the hawks. No computer, no TV, no phone. Damn him anyway! I thought this was supposed to be fun...

I start thinking maybe Snake's one of those people who sets people up to fail as a joke. It's not an unusual attitude, especially in the kind of hard-core military circles in which Snake is known. They're like dogs. Just playing, you know?

They think stepping on a disk you've saved the past month's work on hurts less than being slapped across the face. And they think wrong.

* * *

I get stuck under a sloped granite edge, and for the first time that day, I can't see what I'm supposed to do next. I'm not looking at another error message, I'm facing the blue screen of death. I could 'slip'. Just a little. Laugh it off, and climb up a different way.

I can't help thinking though... Snake would notice.

I can just see him over the top edge of the cliff, peering down, smoking with one hand while he secures my rope around the back of his waist with the other.

I have the freedom to fail, but not to die.

I think for a moment, and then cut the rope where it meets the clip on the front of my harness. The rope slips down into a loose pile thirty feet below at the foot of the cliff, and I fold up the blade of my pocket knife, hands shaking. I could have sworn the wind wasn't blowing this hard a moment ago, but as I realize that there's nothing keeping me on this cliff anymore, I suddenly feel how far it is to the ground.

My head spins, and I lean into the rock wall in front of me, knowing that's my best chance of not screwing this situation up worse.

And then I hear the smooth rip of the zip line above me, and I'm off the cliff, and on the ground. Just like that. Snake lets go of me, and unclips himself from the zip line angrily.

"What the hell did you do that for?" He demands.

I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything, fingers tight around my upper arms so they won't shake. I can't take my eyes off the rough-cut end of the rope looped on the ground beside us.

"WHY?" Snake demands, again, shaking me by the shoulders.

"I..." -I still have no answer.

"-Right," Snake backs off. He coils up the cut half of my safety rope, knots it off without looking at it, and clips it to the back of his climbing harness.

* * *

The next day I don't come downstairs until almost noon. There are coffee cups all over the kitchen table, nine of them, and each has a spoon sitting in it. Eight are set up in a tic-tac-toe style grid with a missing corner. The ninth cup sits a short distance away. Something about the way the cup handles and the ends of the spoons are pointing catches my eye, and I realize it's a puzzle.

That's something I know what to do with.

Without giving it much thought, I set up the last cup to complete the pattern.

As I finish it, I realize I'm not the only one wondering why the man he's hiding out with is ranked at 180.

I think back to the cliff, and the ledge that trapped me, and I realize that to Snake, there isn't any difference between that and the coffee cups.

Some of the tension that lives in the roots of my hair lets go.

Getting out a package of Oreos, I take a bite of one, and leave the remaining half in the bottom of the ninth coffee cup.

The rest of the cookies are coming with me.

-

* * *


End file.
